


another life

by xnowimnothing



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Ass to Mouth, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Drug Abuse, Emotional Roller Coaster, Fear of Abandonment, Fights, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rage, Rimming, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing
Summary: John has codependent traits.Tim has borderline personality disorder.They fall in love.





	another life

The band is somewhere partying and getting totally wasted, but John decided to stay home and get some rest. He isn’t the partying type. He doesn’t mind being surrounded by people flirting with him, at all, it’s just that he prefers to avoid those kind of social gatherings whenever he can. The band can party seven days a week. A couple is enough for him. 

He is indeed sleeping when he gets a phone call. He groans, tosses a bit, considers not answering, but then he does. 

“Hello?”

“John. It’s Tim. Listen. Can you come pick me up? I’m too drunk and I’m not having fun anymore.” 

John groans. 

“Can’t you call a taxi?” 

“I have no money on me right now, left the card at the hotel.” 

“Where even are you?” 

Tim gives him the address to the club, speech a little slurred. John can hardly make out his words. 

John hops on his car, turns on the engine, and goes. 

Tim is sitting on the pavement outside the club, his back against the wall, legs spread and head looking like it’s falling off his neck. There’s a pool of vomit by his side. 

“Hey asshole,” John says, stepping toward him. “Get up. I’m taking you home.” 

Tim lifts his head, stare empty, eyelids heavy. He doesn’t move. 

“Tim are you okay? Did you drink after you called me?” 

He tries to look back at John but his eyes close right away. 

“Maybe,” he says, a hint of a grin in his voice, but he does look pretty in pain, too. 

John takes his hand and helps him stand, holding him up, and guides him to the passenger seat. He tells him not to close his eyes, to stay here, talks and asks him questions to keep him awake until they’re at their destination. Tim throws up in John’s car, again and again, and doesn’t look like he intends on stopping. 

“Why do you even go party every night,” John asks, hand on the steering wheel. “We aren’t even on tour yet. It’s always the same clubs, the same people… don’t you get bored after a while?” 

Tim just sighs at that, and John hopes he’s not about to throw up again. 

John drags him to his own bedroom and brings him water, then puts him to sleep in his bed. Before drifting away, Tim whispers “thank you” and closes his eyes. 

John sleeps on the floor that night. 

***

The record is almost done. They’re all at the studio, Tim and Brian arguing over production matters, Brian being the fucking despot he is, Tim being as stubborn as he can be. They always fight, and lately the fighting has been intensifying. That day is one of those days, everyone in the band seems to be kind of used to it by now, but things seem to be getting a little too heated, even for their standards. Brian shouts, Tim shouts back and throws music sheets onto the floor. Then Brian grabs him by the neck of his shirt and throws him against the wall. Everyone in the room jumps, Ginger screaming something about fucking decency, but they stay at a distance. Brian punches Tim in the face. 

He’s bleeding. 

John runs towards them, breaks it up. 

“Fuck you, Brian,” he says. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Fuck you all,” Brian says, calmly, and fucks off. 

“Tim,” John says, alarmed, the rest of the band paralyzed as if time stopped. He kneels next to Tim, who’s touching his mouth with his fingers, blood running down the palm of his hand. 

“I’m fine,” he says, getting up in one fluid motion. “Fuck Brian. He can keep his songs as shitty as he likes.” 

Tim walks out the door. John runs after him. 

“Hey, Tim,” he says when he finds him, leaning on the walls and smoking. He doesn’t turn when John arrives. “You sure you’re okay?” 

Tim takes the cigarette out of his mouth, the filter stained red. He looks at it, smiles bitterly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Brian can be an asshole sometimes. I don’t know how it’s the second album I’m doing with him.” 

“Well you’re nice,” Tim says. “I bet he hasn’t punched you in the face too many times.” 

“He does push me around a lot though.” 

Tim puffs out the smoke and smiles at John. 

“Wanna go grab dinner?” Tim says, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. 

They have dinner at some restaurant near the studio. John’s relieved to see Tim laugh at one point while they’re chatting, and laughs too. 

“Man I was so fucking dumb when I was doing that record. I made it uselessly more difficult for anyone, including myself. Also, I was on a shit ton of drugs,” Tim explains, the expression on his face changing to serious. “Now I don’t do drugs anymore. Kinda. Does xanax count?” 

“I believe it does,” John says, chewing. 

“What about you? I’ve never seen you do drugs.” 

“I don’t. I don’t even drink.” 

“So you’re like… straightedge or something?” 

“I would say that, yeah.” 

Tim nods. 

They chat and laugh some more until it’s dark. 

***

No one is partying anymore. The band grew tired of each other’s shit. Brian is still everything but patient, him being the fucking despot he is, and it takes a lot to upset John, really, but the fights have been increasing and John just doesn’t have enough emotional energies for that. He just wants to play his guitar, for fuck’s sake. 

The tour is starting that week. Which means they’re gonna be away from home and they’re gonna be in each other’s company all fucking day, every fucking day. John feels more than a little depressed about that. He can never expect what Brian and the band may come up with, but he does need to do damage control and a survival kit for these months. And most importantly, he has to enjoy the few days he has left before the tour starts. 

Which is why he’s surprised and taken aback and not exactly happy when he gets a call. 

“Hey dude,” Tim says, “don’t freak out, I’m not in trouble this time. Wanna hang?” 

John looks at the clock. It’s 10 pm. He wants to watch fucking tv in his bed. 

“Honestly I just want to watch fucking tv in my bed.” 

“You can watch fucking tv at mine,” Tim says. “Please, I’m booored.” 

John sighs, hangs up, and goes to Tim’s. 

He finds Tim handling a big fucking rifle. 

“Woah,” he says, genuinely impressed. 

“Like it? I built it,” Tim gestures at it proudly, showing it off. 

“Didn’t know you built guns too.” 

“Well, yeah. I used to do this for a living in Sweden. I grew fond of it. I was in the army too, for some time.” 

“We don’t have a lot in common other than playing in Brian’s fucking band do we?” 

“I don’t know,” Tim says, “We both like pussy.” 

John laughs. “Yeah, that’s something.” 

“We’re both hot.” 

“Absolutely.” 

“We both like Italian cuisine.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re both kinda reserved,” Tim adds. 

John thinks before he answers. “I guess.” 

“We’re both pretty emotional.” 

John makes a face at that. “Not sure. I wouldn’t say I am emotional.” 

“You seem sensitive to me.” 

“Yeah, sensitive, maybe. But I don’t show it.” 

“Well, I noticed, so something must surface,” Tim says. “Hey, didn’t you want to watch tv?” 

They sit on the couch in Tim’s living room, feet on the coffee table in front of them. Tim is smoking, John is watching something that doesn’t really catch his attention. Then Tim stands up. 

“You sure you don’t wanna try some xanax?” Tim asks. 

“No, I’m good,” John says and watches Tim disappear in the bathroom. He comes back less than a minute later and falls onto the couch with a thud. 

“You alright?” John asks. 

“Yeah,” Tim smiles blissfully. “Yeah, I’m super fine.” 

“What does this drug do to you, exactly?” John asks, curious. 

“Nothing much. It just relaxes the shit out of me. I’m more uninhibited and could easily fall asleep. It gets a little hard to think.” 

“What about the side effects?” 

“Highly addictive. Can cause death on high dosages or if mixed with alcohol. The classic drug bullshit.” 

Tim lies down on his side, knees bent, feet next to John. John observes him. His eyes are closed, the muscles of his face relaxed, breath slow. 

“It’s as if nothing is wrong in this world,” Tim says. John smiles. 

They stay like this for a while, John just staring at him, silence all around them except for the white noise of the TV. 

Tim opens his eyes, asks “what”, and John shakes his head, taken aback, a little embarrassed; but then Tim sits up and asks John if he can kiss him. 

John is absolutely shocked by that. No words come out of his mouth so he just stays there, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

Tim chuckles and says nevermind. But John’s heart has started beating fast, only he can’t discern whether it’s fear or excitement. 

“No really it’s fine,” Tim says again when he sees that John won’t relax. “We’re not doing anything you don’t wanna do. Forget I even asked, okay?” and gestures as if it doesn’t matter. 

John still can’t speak. Maybe he could use one of Tim’s pills, he thinks briefly. But then something inside him happens, and he moves - he doesn’t think about moving, his body just does. And he closes the distance between him and Tim and captures his lips in his own. 

John thinks that Tim mustn’t have expected that, because he kind of jumps when their lips meet, but then he leans into the kiss and John decides it feels fucking good so he doesn’t stop. 

Tim doesn’t stop either, so a kiss turns into a make out session pretty quickly. Tim moans at some point and John’s heart skips a beat. Tim is hot. Tim is very hot and John wonders how it never crossed his mind before. His mouth is soft and warm and sexy and just the perfect place for his tongue to be. He puts his hand on Tim’s nape, pushing him closer to him, feeling the tender skin of his neck. Tim touches John’s leg, and John has an erection, but Tim doesn’t go there, he just grips the side of his thigh tightly. John runs both of his hands on his shoulders, then down on his chest and his sides, feeling how muscular his body is. John sighs and looks Tim in the eyes when their lips part. 

“I’m glad I finally got to do this,” Tim whispers. 

***

The tour starts that day and John is more excited than he thought he would be. Dealing with the guys will be difficult, as it always is, but he finally gets to play live again and maybe there’s cheerful crowds and maybe there’s groupies. 

He is indeed thinking about groupies when Tim walks into the room, face painted as it was while they were doing promo photoshoots earlier that year. John is still barefaced, because they’re playing in three hours, but Tim decides he is going to do his make up and why would John decline? 

So they sit in front of each other and Tim gently puts the heel of his hand on John’s cheekbone, applying eyeliner on one eye. Then he gently rubs his eyelid and blends it. He does the same with John’s other eye. Tim is so close John feels his breath on his face, and it’s quite intimate and John doesn’t mind it. Tim tells him to open his eyes, backing up a little and checking out his own work. He grabs a deep red lipstick and instructs John to part his lips. John does, and Tim is staring at his lips, and suddenly he’s touching them, not even putting lipstick on them, just caressing gently with his fingers, lower lip first, then the upper one. John decides groupie fantasies can wait and moves his tongue to meet Tim’s digits, and he licks at them seductively. Tim doesn’t remove them. He keeps staring at John’s mouth, his own lips slightly parted as well, and it all feels so fucking good until Tim suddenly locks eyes with John, looking hungrily into his and kisses him. Hard. Tim kisses John hard, his fucking tongue moving around his mouth as if it’s desperately searching for something, and John kisses back, he fucking does, because Tim is hot and kisses better than groupies. 

They stop right before Pogo enters the room, so he doesn’t catch them. 

“Oh, you’re painting John’s face? Paint mine too please!” 

So Tim does, saying nothing, and looks at John, John looking right back at him, Pogo not noticing anything. Tim smiles at John, and John giggles. 

“What?” Pogo asks, getting his eyeliner put on. 

“I forgot to paint John’s lips,” Tim says. “I’ll do it later.” 

After the show the band goes partying and John goes with them, because it’s the first night of the tour, so, he thinks, better take the chance to party now that he still has energy and will to live than later on, when he most likely won’t have either anymore. That’s what playing for Manson does to your physical and mental health. 

They walk into a club and everyone is staring at them. John likes it. It makes him feel like he’s hot shit. A lot of people call his name and touch his shoulders so he doesn’t even have to do any of the work. He sees someone cute and deliberately starts dancing with them, whispering into their ear and holding their waist. 

Time goes by and he’s having fun, but then someone grabs him by the arm. He can’t make out who it is, yet he excuses himself, follows the hand that’s pulling him out of the crowd. 

It’s Tim, and he’s dragging him to the back of the club. 

“Tim, Tim. What’s the matter?” John says, alarmed and out of breath when they stop. 

“Sorry I just…” Tim starts to say, but then he closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs. “I don’t know what I took but I’m not having a great time.” 

“You feel sick?” 

Tim keels over to the ground. John looks at him. 

“Kinda. But it’s more of a mental thing. A bad trip I guess,” Tim says, and John has no idea what any of that means because he never had a bad trip - since he never even had a trip in his life in the first place. 

“Oh. What can I do for you?” 

Tim shudders and hugs his knees, and John sits down next to him, lips shut tight. 

“Just answer some questions for me, okay?” 

John nods and his heart starts beating fast. 

“Do you - do you feel like I’m too much to handle?” 

John opens his eyes wide at that, because, has Tim seen Pogo? Maybe that would be too much to handle, yet they’ve been in the same fucking band for years and no one’s died yet. 

“No, Tim.” 

“Do you find me clingy?” 

Why would he think that. 

“Not at all.” 

“Do you have a sort of interest in me?” 

John doesn’t answer right away. Tim repeats the question. 

“Tim I… I don’t know. I guess.” 

Tim sighs, but he looks more relaxed than before. He looks vulnerable, and John is not used to seeing him like this. Then he asks John if he can kiss him, and he says yes, so they kiss in the back of the club, alone in the darkness of the night. 

Tim stops abruptly, turns his head away from John’s, and throws up. 

“Whoa, am I that bad?” John says, giggling. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the hotel.” 

They go back to the hotel and John gives him water. Tim swears he’s better now and that he gets paranoid when he’s on certain drugs sometimes and that he’s sorry he spoiled John’s night. John says it’s okay and kisses him goodnight, but Tim stops him. 

“Can you stay a little longer and kiss me some more?” 

And John thinks he has nothing better to do so he goes back and sits on the bed next Tim’s lying body. Tim sits up and their lips meet again. Tim’s mouth tastes like alcohol and something else, and John licks his tongue, holding his head, making him hard. 

Yes, Tim is hard. 

“You’re hard,” John points out, with Tim’s forehead pressed against his and his laboured breath on his mouth. Tim grins. 

“Wanna do something about it?” 

And John thinks why not, wasn’t getting laid his initial intention earlier on when he walked into the club anyway, so he grabs Tim’s clothed cock and starts massaging it gently. He studies Tim’s face, and he’s looking down at himself, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth agape. John dares a little more and takes Tim’s pants down, leaving him in his underwear, still strongly constricted by the fabric. 

“Can I suck you off?” 

“Need you fucking ask,” Tim says and throws his head back. 

John can feel his stare on him while he gently kisses the outline of Tim’s cock through the fabric. When he lowers the underwear, it pops out in all its glory, and John notices it’s fucking big and fucking uncut, and he’s never had uncut dick before so it makes him fucking stoked. He licks his lips and puts the head in his mouth, tasting Tim’s skin, listening to Tim’s sighs, holding Tim’s hips. 

Tim puts his hand in John’s hair and John takes more of him in, sucking greedily, his cheeks hollowing. He tries to take him in his throat, and when he finally succeeds Tim lets out a soft moan. He relentlessly moves his head up and down, feels Tim’s cock brush against his tongue with every movement until he finally hears Tim say he’s about to come. 

When he does, John lets him spill into his mouth and swallows everything down. He even licks his lips after he’s finished to eat at every remaining drop of cum on his face. 

Tim is looking down at him, eyes wide. 

“Well, this should’ve happened sooner,” he says, grins. “Want me to return the favor?” 

John shrugs. 

“Can you just take your shirt off and let me jerk off?” 

And Tim does, he takes his shirt off and he’s completely naked now, and he’s muscular, and he’s fucking hot. John touches him, his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen, then up again to his collarbone, his neck. All the while with his other hand wrapped around his own dick, working himself, watching Tim’s muscles flex under his skin when he moves. John’s hand moves up to his face now, his fingers trace his lips, then his cheek, up to his sharp cheekbone. His hand travels down Tim’s arm, and John comes when it reaches Tim’s hand. 

John is still a little high when he hears Tim laugh. 

“It feels so fucking weird having someone jerk off to me so blatantly,” he says, “but it was hot.” 

John chuckles. He lies down on Tim’s bed, and Tim soon lies next to him, big spooning him. John falls asleep with Tim’s nose in his hair. 

*** 

Three days later they’re all in the bus, riding to the next venue. Tim and Brian are fighting again, who knows what for, screaming horrible things at each other and throwing shit to the ground. John is playing guitar, doing his best to invent new tunes to distract himself with, to tune them out. He tried to find comfort in Ginger or Pogo by attempting to chat with them, but neither was in the mood, so he’s alone, alone with his guitar and Tim and Brian’s fighting and he just wishes he could jump off the bus and get away from there. 

His hands go cold and sweaty. His heart starts pounding and his mouth has dried. He’s anxious. Just, he doesn’t know what he’s anxious about. He watches Tim and Brian pointing their finger at each other; he then lowers his gaze to his guitar again, playing music louder than their voices, moving his fingers faster than they shout insults at each other. 

But he is not handling it well. He feels anxiety build up inside his chest until he feels he’s about to puke, and suddenly he doesn’t even hear the music anymore. He stops playing, and Ginger and Pogo tilt their heads in his direction. He feels like tearing his guts apart but throws the coffee table across the bus instead. Brian and Tim stop arguing and look at him when the thud reaches their ears. John locks himself in the bathroom and washes his face. 

Nobody talks to him that day. 

Tim doesn’t speak to him the day after, either. 

And John feels like he’s holding his fucking breath. 

Until Tim goes to John and talks to him as if nothing happened. John feels relieved. Then they kiss and Tim tells him he’s happy to have him in his life. 

*** 

Tim skips one of the afterparties to stay at the hotel with John. John is waiting for him while he’s in the bathroom, sitting on the bed, next to Tim’s dirty clothes that smell like him. 

Something on the nightstand catches his eye while he’s listening to the water run, and it’s a black notebook. He stretches on the bed and grabs it, browses some of the pages, and sees some scribbles and curses and horrible drawings in it. He reads his own name, but he puts the thing down as soon as he hears the water stop running. Tim is out of the bathroom five seconds later, wet, a towel around his waist. John’s heart is pounding, he isn’t sure what for. 

Tim smirks and throws his towel across the room, moving towards John at a deliberate pace. He climbs on top of him and starts kissing his neck, touching him wherever he can reach. John moans at that and Tim undresses him quickly, wet, soft skin against his warm, dry body. Tim kisses him and John is squirming under him, grabbing his ass and pushing him closer, their dicks touching and growing hard by the second. Their hot breaths intertwining fill the room, until Tim speaks. 

“I feel light when I’m with you. You know that?” 

“Light…” John repeats, not really paying attention though, because Tim’s fingers are brushing the tip of his cock between them and John is already kind of losing his shit. 

“Yeah, light. I feel like everything is fine and alright when I’m with you and maybe you’re just fucking xanax personified.” 

John chuckles at that, but it suddenly turns into a moan because Tim’s touching his body just the way he likes it. Tim curses and says something about damn lube, but then he resolves to lower himself on John until his face is close to his cock. 

“Want you to feel so fucking good,” Tim says. John feels his breath on his dick, so warm, so close. 

John squirms before Tim even takes him in his mouth, and then when Tim does he tilts his head back and grabs Tim’s, massaging his hair. John’s eyes roll back in pleasure and he can’t even think anymore. Tim is watching him with those beautiful eyes of his, his cheekbones looking so sharp John is sure they could cut him in a million pieces and he would fucking let them. Tim's soft lips are ring shaped around his shaft, his mouth so wet, so warm. He stops, kisses John’s balls, gently lifts John’s legs up and wraps them around his neck. 

John didn’t really see it coming, but Tim is now dangerously close to his hole, and he’s about to lick him, yes, yes, he’s licking him. John fucking shakes, but Tim’s strong hands keep him still while he eats him out, fucking tongue against his hole, and fuck, the only way to make this moment better would be Tim sticking his own dick inside him, and John suddenly realizes what Tim might have been babbling about lube earlier. Tim’s hand wanders to his cock again, while he keeps eating like it’s his last meal, and he doesn’t even get to gently stroke him once that John’s coming all over himself. 

“Already?” Tim says, parting his lips from John’s ass. He chuckles. 

“Shut up,” John says, and laughs, but then Tim is all over him again licking his cum from his tummy, and he can’t stop from sighing blissfully. “You’re such a kinky motherfucker.” 

“Uh, well, maybe,” Tim says, and he kisses him, John tasting himself in his mouth. 

The next morning John’s head is on Tim’s chest and John’s hand is around Tim’s waist. When he wakes up Tim is still asleep, his rib cage expanding slightly as he breathes. John tries to move quietly not to wake him up, and he succeeds, only to find himself standing next to Tim’s nightstand, notebook in hand, and John kind of hates himself for not being able to keep his hands to himself. 

_ John’s too pure for me. I’ll ruin him. I think I’m in love with him. _

_ Overdosed again today. No one noticed. Everybody was busy partying and John was playing his fucking guitar. Good news I’m still alive. Or, probably not. _

_ I used to cut myself when I was a teenager. I wish I could do that again. At least I can get away with being self destructive since I’m in a fucking band. _

“John?” Tim says and John freezes. Tim is on his stomach on the bed, upper body lifted bracing on one hand and one forearm, a confused and still half asleep look on his face. 

But then his expression changes and in a matter of milliseconds he’s standing in front of John, fists clenched and angry eyes and whole body tight - ready to hit, John feels, so he covers his face but Tim doesn’t hit him, instead he just screams and throws a fucking vase against the mirror, both of them shattering, Tim breathing heavily, standing, bending at the hips and bracing himself with his fists on the bed. John just lost twenty fucking years of his life. 

“Why would you do that?” Tim asks, not looking at him. 

John doesn’t know. He just wishes he could disappear right there and then. What, does he even feel like fucking crying now? 

He feels like he can’t reach his own heart for how deep it’s sunk. 

“I - I’m sorry Tim.” 

“Yeah, sorry. Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my room. Now.” 

And John does. 

Tim doesn’t talk to John all day but John expected it, so it stings a little less than the previous time, but actually it’s worse because he feels like a fucking dickhead. This time it’s his own fault entirely. 

He feels like he has to do something about it _ now _, fix everything, say sorry, beg for Tim’s forgiveness, anything to make things right again. He just wants to go to Tim and promise him he won’t betray his trust ever again. That he’s a worthless piece of shit and deserves to be given the silence treatment but please have some mercy. Because John can’t fucking take all this tension and he feels like ripping his guts apart and throwing them to the ground. 

He fucked up. He fucked up big time. 

What if Tim doesn’t give him another chance? 

After the show, Tim goes partying with the other guys, and John stays in his hotel room. He tries to watch a movie but he’s not following it, he can’t focus. He just wants to cry, really. He can’t breathe. He checks his phone continuously, who knows, maybe Tim texted him, maybe Tim calls him, maybe Tim’s coming back to the hotel to stay with him, who knows. 

He does get a call when he’s half asleep. 

Except it’s not Tim. It’s Ginger. 

“John,” Ginger says, panting a bit. “Tim. We found him on the floor and he won’t wake up.” 

John’s extremities go fucking cold. 

When John gets to the hospital, he finds Brian, Pogo and Ginger in the waiting room and when he asks about Tim, they tell him he’s stable, but still unconscious. 

John is dying inside. He wants to fucking scream. 

A couple hours pass by, John’s heart a black hole, massive and heavy, head pounding like a fucking jackhammer and finally the doctor comes by and tells them they had to perform gastric lavage on Tim because he overdosed on alcohol and benzodiazepines. He woke up now. 

John is imploding. He falls heavily into his seat and he can’t control his tears anymore. He tries to hide them in front of his bandmates, mostly because he doesn’t want to have any explaining to do, but fuck. Tim is alive. At least. 

They discharge him. They get back to the hotel. 

No one says a fucking word. 

*** 

They hit the road again the next day. Tim still isn’t talking to John, but John isn’t sure he wants to talk to Tim either. He sees him talk to Brian and surprisingly they aren’t fighting. 

They stop at a serving station. John gets off the bus to get a snack, while the other guys just stand near the bus and smoke, and when he comes back they’re gone, only Tim left outside the bus, still smoking, grabbing John’s arm as John brushes past him. John stops. 

“Dude, I think we need to talk,” Tim says, puffing the smoke out of his mouth. 

John gestures and shakes his head barely. Fuck everything. 

And they sit on the pavement next to each other, Tim smoking, John watching him. 

“I’m sorry for making you worried last night. Ginger told me you looked like you were trying to suppress a panic attack.” 

“And I fucking was,” John says, looking down. “Did you - did you do that because of what happened yesterday?” 

John doesn’t really want to know the answer to this question. 

“Yes,” Tim says, looking down as well. “But it’s not your fault.” 

“It _ does _ look like my fault, though.” 

“Nah. I’m still angry at you for disrespecting my privacy, but it’s my fault, because in my mind you could do no fucking wrong. That’s why I reacted the way I did. You weren’t supposed to betray me.” 

“Tim, I… sorry.” 

“It’s not you. I have intense emotions. I get upset pretty easily and I deal with it by self-destructing. That’s what I do. And I fuck things up.” 

Tim pauses, takes a drag, exhales the smoke and sighs. 

“I have this - this deep fear you won’t like me anymore at some point. That you’ll leave me because I’m inherently flawed.” 

“You’re not inherently flawed, Tim.” 

“Well, that’s what my psych report basically says. Whatever the fuck that means. Just promise me you don’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you, Tim, and I have no intention of leaving you.” 

“Thank you for saying it out loud,” Tim says. “So, we’re good?” 

“Yeah,” John says, and they kiss. 

That night, after their show, Tim stays at the hotel with John. They lie on the bed, John’s head on Tim’s chest, Tim stroking John’s hair and kissing it from time to time. John feels like he can finally breathe. 

He relaxes in Tim’s arms, listening to his heartbeat, and he swears he could stay like this forever. 

“Hey,” Tim says softly. John lifts his head to look at him. “C’mere. I wanna kiss you.” 

And John does, pressing his lips to his, savoring his taste and holding his head between his hands. 

Tim sits up and brings John up with him, still kissing him, biting his bottom lip. 

“I want you,” Tim says against his lips. 

“You can have me,” John says. 

“I want to fuck you,” Tim specifies, and John smirks. 

“If only we had lube,” John says, but then it’s Tim’s turn to smirk, he tells him to wait and goes rummaging through his own things. He pulls out a plastic bag. 

“Got it before we got to the hotel tonight,” he says triumphantly and goes back to John, crawling over him and getting him on his back. 

“You did it before, right?” Tim asks, and John nods. 

“It’s been years though.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle,” Tims says, nibbling his neck and throat and making John whine. 

He takes their clothes off rapidly and starts attacking John’s nipple with his mouth, licking and biting gently, pinching the other between his fingers. John reflectively grabs his own cock, brushing against Tim’s moving body. 

“I want all of you,” Tim says and sinks a little lower, briefly kissing the tip of John’s cock, only to get up again and kiss his mouth once more. 

“You’re such a tease.” 

“You should know by now I can’t take my mouth off you for too long,” Tim says. “Ready?” 

John nods. He spreads his legs and lifts them up. 

Tim pours some lube on his fingers and touches John’s hole, making him shiver. He massages it until he’s relaxed enough and then pushes one finger inside, slowly but surely, up to the hilt. John’s breathing heavily, anticipating, turned on. 

When Tim can move it with enough ease, he tries to shove another finger in, pushing them in and out until John’s loose enough to receive a third one. John is trying to keep his cool, but he can’t stop himself from groaning, feeling Tim’s fingers work him open, stretching him until he’s ready to be fucked. Tim curses when John moans his name, and proceeds to take his fingers out of his ass and replace them with his lube-covered cock instead. John whimpers when the head finally gets in. He watches Tim bite his own lips. 

He pushes in deeper, John crying, feeling like he’s being ripped open from the inside. 

“What, am I too big for you?” Tim asks, smirking, smug. 

“Well, you’re not exactly tiny,” John says, and they both laugh. Tim kisses him. 

“Hurts?” he says, softly, still pushing in. 

“Can handle it,” John says, and his breath hitches in his throat when it’s finally all the way inside. Tim sighs. 

He stays still for a moment, but John doesn’t want to fucking wait so he urges him to move. 

And Tim doesn’t need him to ask twice. He pushes out and then in again, filling him up all over again, making John so fucking full of him, so full he almost rips open. 

Tim increases his pace after three or four painfully slow strokes, strokes that have John feel every fucking inch of Tim’s dick inside of his hole, every fucking throb, everything. 

John starts whimpering when Tim hits his sweet spot over and over, making the pleasure build up inside his body. 

“Do you - do you think you can moan like this without me fucking imploding?” Tim says and John only moans more. Tim’s rhythm speeds up in response, and he’s fucking panting, and John loses his shit. 

John doesn’t even need to have to his dick touched to come because Tim is just _ that _ good with his hips - and just all of his body, for that matter. He spills on his abdomen and a minute later Tim suddenly slows down, coming inside John’s hole, pounding inside him just one or two times more. John feels his hot cum invade his body, getting inside of him, reaching who knows where - if not physically at least emotionally -, corrupting him, even. 

Tim’s body falls on John’s, the sticky liquid between them almost gluing them together. 

“Please don’t you ever leave me,” Tim says, when their breaths go back to regular. 

***

Another night, in another city, after another show, the guys go clubbing, because it’s all they seem to know how to do after a concert. Tim goes as well and no one seems to be raising an eyebrow about it. 

John stays at the hotel. 

He immediately regrets it. 

Anxiety kicks in pretty soon, his mind wandering to the most awful places. What if Tim mixes substances again? What if Brian punches him? What if he’s not okay and didn’t tell John? 

He has to prevent it. But what can he do? 

John is trying really hard to stop himself from calling, because he doesn’t want to be that kind of guy, but he’s fucking shaking. 

He paces back and forth, restless, touching things, getting out of his room, going back in, playing guitar and getting the notes wrong, getting angry at himself and just throwing the guitar onto the bed. 

He sits next to it, trying to focus and breathe slowly, but all he wishes he could do is dematerialize. 

After two hours of knee hugging and apnea, he decides he can’t do this. 

He dials his number. 

One ring. 

Two rings. 

Three rings. 

John hangs up. 

When they turn back it’s five in the morning and John is half asleep. Pogo is laughing in the hallway, someone’s telling him to shut the fuck up. 

He hears the sound of doors being shut. 

And then a knock on his own door. 

“Come in,” he says, yawning. 

“Hey,” Tim says, “you’re up already?” 

_ I never really went to sleep, _ John thinks. “Yeah,” he says. 

“I saw your missed call at some point, but it was too late to call back. Didn’t wanna wake you up. What was the deal?” 

“I,” John starts. “I wanted to check on you.” 

“It was two in the morning,” Tim says. “Why weren’t you sleeping by then?” 

John sits up and hugs his knees. Tim sits next to him. 

“I feared you might get hurt again.” 

Tim sighs. He puts his finger under John’s chin, lifting his head so he can look back at him. 

“Baby,” Tim says and John shivers. “I’m so sorry I made you worried. I’m okay now. I promise.” 

“I want you to always be honest with me,” John says, quietly, looking away. “I wanna know what’s on your mind.” 

“I don’t think you’d like that,” Tim says. 

“Why not?” 

“Because my mind is a hell of a place.” 

John locks eyes with him again. 

“Show me.” 

Tim sighs. He starts ripping cuticles off his thumb, watching his fingers as he does. 

“I hate myself. All I feel towards myself is deep, violent hatred. Sometimes I start fucking raging and I just wanna destroy everything I am. All I have. I fear this. I fear I’m gonna destroy you too, somehow.” 

“Tim,” John says. “You won’t. Listen. I don’t hate you. I love you. No matter what’s in your head.” 

Tim cups his face and kisses him sweetly. John kisses back. 

“I love you too, John,” he says, close to his face, glancing briefly at John’s wet lips, then looking him in the eye again. John’s breath hitches in his throat for a second for the amount of blue he sees. “This ain’t gonna save me from myself, though, and it won’t be your fault.” 

“I just wanna be by your side. Make you forget about all of that in your head for a couple hours,” John says, voice sounding like he’s pleading. 

“That you can do,” Tim says, smiling. 

“Lie here with me?” John says, smiling back, and they lie down on John’s bed and kiss a bit before just listening to each other’s heartbeat. 

*** 

The next day, John parties with the rest of the band. 

He’s still not so sure he can trust Tim with this whole thing, and he said nothing when John announced he was coming, too. It’s better off this way. John didn’t think he could stand another night like the one before. 

Tim takes a drink and then they disappear together. Tim goes back to the bar every once in a while to get more drinks, but he mostly stays with John, dancing where they know no one can see them, humping and touching one another and ending up in a toilet stall sucking each other’s hard cock. 

Tim says he wants to smoke after they’re finished, so they go to the back of the club. 

“Fuck, it’s more fun with you,” Tim says, puffing out the smoke. John can see he’s drunk. “Everything's better with you. I don’t even need fucking pills.” 

“I love you,” John says, smiling, his heart pounding when Tim puts his lips on his. He kisses him hard, holding his face firm with his hands on the sides of his neck and jaw. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Tim whispers against John’s lips. “I’m fucking suicidal. If it weren’t for you I’d probably kill myself. I’m not kidding. I’m fucking sick in the head. But God John I love you so fucking much… you’re worth staying alive for.” 

John captures his mouth again, his heart fluttering. They kiss again before going back into the club, dancing until dawn. 

*** 

The next day, John and Tim talk before the show. Tim is in one of his moods. He and Brian argued in the morning, Brian shouting insults at him and then at the rest of the band, declaring that the Greatest Hits _ will _ be done, that they’re nothing but incompetent shits, failed musicians, thriving on Brian’s success and that they’re nothing but ungrateful fucks. 

Tim fucking hates Brian. He makes him so fucking angry and Tim can’t really handle being _ this fucking angry _. 

“Brian’s difficult,” John says, “but he’s nothing but your boss. Fuck what he thinks and what he says. It doesn’t concern you. You’re only here to write and play music for him. Period.” 

“No one in my former bands would ever treat me like this,” Tim says, a cigarette between his fingers. “Sascha would never call me fucking incompetent. I know what I’m fucking doing. Music is my life.” 

“I know,” John says, reassuringly. 

“I have a right to be playing here. I have talent,” Tim says. 

“Of course you do,” John says and kisses his forehead. “Don’t let Brian bring you down. You’re better than that. It ain’t worth it.” 

Tim sighs. He grabs John’s hand and holds it in his, stroking it with his thumb. 

“Thank you.” 

That night, Tim doesn’t feel like partying, and he stays in with John. 

They’re on the bed, John holding Tim tight in his arms, kissing his head. 

“I feel so fucking useless,” Tim says, suddenly breaking the silence. “Maybe Brian’s right. I don’t deserve to be in this band.” 

“That’s bullshit,” John says back. “He never even said that. He needs you.” 

“Then why does he treat me like I’m a piece of trash?” 

“I think it’s because you have a strong personality. You speak your mind, you’re not afraid to go against him. He’s not used to that.” 

“The greatest hits thing is fucking bullshit. I don’t know why he can’t see it.” 

“I think so too, but I won’t insist, because Brian does whatever the fuck he wants all the fucking time.” 

“It’s bullshit,” Tim says, stroking John’s arm gently. “I get the urge to rip my skin open whenever I see him.” 

These words sting. John sighs. 

“All the things he says. He makes me wanna destroy myself. Cut. Drink. Overdose. Everything.” 

There is a pause after that. 

“Why do you take it out on yourself?” 

There is another pause. 

“I don’t know. All I know is he makes me hate myself even more.” 

John holds Tim tighter. 

“I wish I could make your pain stop,” John says. “I wish I could save you.” 

They shift on the bed and Tim curls into a ball next to John, looking small, vulnerable, hurt. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Tim says, voice small, not looking at him. “I don’t wanna drag you down with me.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” John says. Tim kisses him. 

*** 

Tim skips some other afterparties and spends more time alone with John. Sometimes they jam, sometimes they talk, sometimes they cuddle, sometimes they fuck. 

That night, they’re fucking. 

John is on his hands and knees, his hole stretched, Tim’s cock slowly getting engulfed inside him. Tim whimpers; John feels his hands move around his body, caressing everywhere, grabbing his dick at some point, stroking slowly. He pinches his nipples, brushes his lips. John takes Tim’s fingers in his mouth and sucks on them, moaning around them, as if they were his cock. Tim growls, then he starts fucking him, pounding his ass steadily, forcefully, making John cry and whine. Tim pants above him, commenting on how tight John is, and John feels Tim’s balls hit his butt every time Tim pushes into him. 

Tim’s cock brushes against John’s prostate continuously until he’s coming undone, spilling his seed all over the bed under him, moaning Tim’s name, the orgasm making him shake. Tim comes a little later, filling John up with his hot cum. John feels it slide down his balls when Tim removes his dick, and he wishes he could taste it.

Then they lie together, John’s head on Tim’s chest, John kissing right where his heart is. 

*** 

They finally have a day off and it’s in some city somewhere. John has no idea. He was really looking forward to it though, because he wants to go around and hang out with Tim and maybe have lunch together and maybe sit in a park and watch puppies play. Or go to the movies. Or go shopping. Whatever, really, he just wants to be with Tim, hold his hand, tell him how handsome he is. 

He was really fucking looking forward to it.

The day doesn’t seem to be going the way he’d imagined, though. They just got off the bus and Brian and Tim are shouting at each other, John can see the tension intensify, he feels it in his guts, in his throat going dry and in his heart shrinking. He wants them to stop. He _ needs _ them to stop. He can’t breathe. 

“Guys,” he manages to say. “Guys, stop that. Tim, come with me, alright?” 

“Stay out of it, John,” Tim says, staring at Brian defiantly, showing teeth. “It’s between me and Brian. Stay away.” 

John’s heart falls deeper in his chest. He feels helpless. He feels a lack of control. He feels like he has to do something. 

They just keep shouting insults at each other. Pogo and Ginger quietly fuck off, and John knows he should just join them, he should stay the fuck away, he can’t do anything about it anyway. But he can’t move. He watches them, watches Brian push Tim’s shoulder, making him step back and telling him painful things, watches Tim bare his teeth and shout louder, and then his hands are in the air, and they’re pushing Brian to the ground, violently, so fucking violently, Brian falls on his arm and they’re suddenly silent. 

John’s eyes are wide. No one says a fucking word. 

They bring Brian to the hospital, and his arm is broken. 

They fucking cancel the next date. 

That night Tim is alone in his hotel room, refusing to see anyone, even John. But John isn’t going to back up, and knocks on his door until Tim unlocks it. 

He has a dead look to his face, pale, eyes empty. 

“Tim,” John says, trying to break the ice. He sits down on the other side of the bed. 

“I don’t wanna talk,” Tim says, looking at his fingers on his lap. 

“Okay then,” John says. “I’ll just stay here. No need to talk.” 

The room is quiet for a while. 

“Why are you even here? I’m a fucking monster. I saw how scared you were. Fuck, it was even worse than the actual fighting with Brian. You should let me rot in peace,” Tim says. 

“You don’t get to decide what _ I _should do.” 

“Whatever. You should leave me. I’m toxic for you.” 

John moves closer to Tim on the bed, lifts his chin with his hand so their eyes meet. 

“Do you really want me to leave you? Is it what you _ truly _ want?” 

“Fuck, of course not,” Tim spits out, turning his head away. “But I don’t wanna make you scared and worried all the fucking time. I’m a burden. I don’t wish someone like me upon anyone.” 

“Fucking Christ, why do you hate yourself so fucking much? Yeah, you fight with Brian, yeah, you’re overall self destructive and intense, but you ain’t a shitty person for it. I believe you’d snap out of it if you could. You act like this because you’re deeply suffering. I highly doubt you’re having fun in there,” John says, gesturing at Tim’s head. 

“The more you validate my pain the more guilty and ashamed I feel. I don’t deserve these words, John. I deserve to be alone.” 

“Tim, stop that.” 

“You know what,” Tim says, getting up. “Not only I deserve to be alone. I deserve to die, too. I deserve to bleed and I deserve to destroy my organs with every poisonous substance I can find. Next time I’m passed out face down in my vomit don’t take me to the hospital. I just want to die. I wish I had some bleach to drink right now. I fucking wish I did.” 

John stays quiet for a while, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He feels helpless. Again. 

“Well,” John says, face muscles contracted, jaw clenched. “You’re really more of a coward than I thought, then.” 

“You don’t understand, John. You can’t. We’re both wasting time.” 

“Wasting time? So we’re wasting time now? I thought we fucking loved each other. You only needed someone to wipe your tears, didn’t you?” John spits out, crossing his arms. 

“This is not true. I never said any of that. You wanted me to be honest, I am being honest. I’m fucking suicidal and you can’t help me,” Tim shouts. 

“Fuck you then,” John says, and in a second, he’s out the door. 

He has fucking tears in his eyes. 

*** 

John breathes a sigh of relief the next day when he learns that Tim is still alive, though he’s not talking to anyone, everyone’s looking at him like he’s some kind of a monster, no one is even breathing next to him. Walking on fucking eggshells. Brian does glance at him sometimes, his arm in a cast, spiteful eyes. 

John does nothing. 

But in the afternoon, when the band is hanging out in the city and Tim is heading back to the hotel, he follows him, and he tries to get after his barrier again. 

“Tim,” he says, knocking on his door. He knows he’s in there. “Please, Tim. Let me in. Please.” 

He gets no answer, and he tries again and again, in vain. He sits there, back leaning against the door, telling Tim exactly what he’s doing and that he has no intention of going away. 

He hears shifting on the other side of the door, some steps towards it. Then nothing. 

“I’m here,” Tim says through the door and John understands that he sat down as well. 

“Sorry for last night. I acted like an asshole,” John says, sighs. 

“You were telling me you wouldn’t leave and what did you do five minutes later? You fucking left me,” Tim says, a sobbing quality to his voice. John’s heart breaks in a million pieces. 

“Shit, I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” 

“Why did you do that? Why did you get angry?” 

“I don’t know, Tim,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think - I think I felt useless because I wasn’t helping. All those things you were saying about yourself… I freaked out. Jesus. I don’t want you to drink fucking bleach. But there’s nothing I can say to keep you from doing that.” 

They stay silent for a while. 

“You always want to control me,” Tim says. 

“That’s not true.” 

“Yes it is. You read my fucking diary. You call me in the middle of the night when I’m out clubbing. You even go clubbing with me. You freak the fuck out every time Brian and I have a word,” Tim says. 

“Of course I do! You’re a fucking time bomb! I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you again!” 

“You do not have control over this. My pain is not your responsibility.” 

It’s quiet for a second too many. 

“How am I supposed to accept that you may hurt yourself? It’s fucking impossible,” John says, his head aching. 

It’s quiet again. 

“As much as it fucking hurts to say,” Tim begins, sighs, “maybe you should just detach from me. The less involved you are, the less it’ll hurt.” 

“No. No Tim, I don’t like it. Listen. We’ll find another way.” 

“Honestly, I’d rather just know you’re over me, than have you promising me you’ll stay and then leave again.” 

There’s a weight on John’s chest that’s suffocating him. Tears start running down his cheeks. 

Then the door opens. 

Tim doesn’t look at him, but as soon as John’s inside, face still wet, he kisses him, hard. He pushes John against the wall, pressing his own body against his, his knee between John’s tighs. He kisses his neck, sucking and biting gently, making John groan, palming his body under his shirt. 

“I can’t fucking do it without you. I fucking can’t,” Tim says against his ear, gripping his waist tight. 

“I love you,” John says, and Tim yanks his head back, pulling at the hair. He gets full access to his throat and nibs at it. John moans audibly. 

Tim’s hand undoes John’s belt and it gets inside his pants and underwear pretty quickly. John squirms. 

“I hate that it seems you’re never enough. ‘Cause you fucking are. You are more than enough. You’re everything,” Tim says, hot breath against John’s lips, and then Tim kisses him again, as if he can’t get enough of him, as if he can’t help it, whimpering inside his mouth while his hand works him dryly, slowly in his underwear. John places his hand behind Tim’s head, pushing him closer, and the other one on his chest, his heart beating fast. 

Then Tim takes John and throws him onto the bed, getting naked and undressing him, climbing on top of him and attacking his mouth again, hips rocking and his hard cock brushing against John’s naked tummy. John lifts his legs and wraps them behind Tim’s back, bent in half, ready to take him in. 

“If I fuck you good enough,” Tim says between kisses, breathless. “If I fuck you good enough, will you stay?” 

John can’t fucking think straight. He doesn’t answer verbally, he just moans desperately, though he wishes he could reassure Tim that it’s not necessary, he doesn’t need fucking conditions, he wants to stay no matter what. 

Tim reaches his hand and grabs the lube inside the drawer, pours some on his cock and on John’s hole, John whimpering, his hands gripping Tim’s shoulders. Tim stretches his hole observing John’s blissful face, staring at his mouth and his eyes. When he’s stretched enough, Tim shifts on the bed, sits up and guides John until his back is pressed against his chest, his warm breath where John’s neck meets his shoulder. John sighs when he gently kisses it. 

Tim helps him sit on his throbbing cock, inhaling sharply, John helplessly moaning when he’s entirely inside him, breathing heavily and filling the room with obscene sounds. 

John starts riding him, feeling Tim stretch him out beyond any fucking limit, taking everything he can, the best that he can. Tim’s hands caress his entire body, giving him goosebumps; John throws his hands above him to the sides of Tim’s head, holding it while he moves up and down his cock, Tim rocking his hips slightly to meet him. 

John comes undone the second Tim moves his hand to his dick, stroking it once or twice, and he comes helplessly, desperately, moaning Tim’s name, shaking, pressing into his body. When he’s done he gets up, turns around and lowers himself until he’s sucking Tim’s stiff, pulsating dick, looking seconds away from exploding. When he comes, groaning and writhing, John is careful to catch every drop into his mouth and swallow everything Tim gives him, humming happily as if it’s the tastiest thing he’s ever eaten. 

They lie on the bed after that, both tired and completely wrecked, heads on the same pillow, John’s forehead against Tim’s. John feels the familiar anxiety build up in his chest, though it also feels melancholic, resigned, exhausted. He sighs, closes his eyes. 

“Tim,” he says weakly. “Tim, talk to me.” 

“I’m so fucking confused, John,” Tim says, turning on his back and facing the ceiling. “I want you to stay. At the same time I want you to be safe. I can’t have it both ways. It’s so fucking difficult.” 

John sits up. 

“Tim,” John says. “We can find a way to make it work if you want it too. We can learn together. I now know I can’t fix you, and I’m not gonna try to do that any more. Just, please, let me love you. You don’t have to do it alone, I’m here with you now, and I don’t wanna leave.” 

Tim sits up as well, lights up a cigarette.

“You saw what I can do. You know how fucked up I am, how much pain I can cause.” 

“Yeah,” John says. “Which is why now I’m sure I wanna stay. Now I know what to expect, now I can take it. You’re worth it. You’re worth everything, Tim, for fuck’s sake.” 

John can see Tim’s eyes are filling up with tears. He hugs his knees with one arm, taking the cigarette out of his mouth with his other hand. 

“The decision is yours at this point, I guess,” he says weakly. 

John grabs his face and kisses him hard. He stares into his pleading, puffy red eyes. 

“I love you. And I’m gonna stay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title from a miw song. you can also spot a quote from the song in the text somewhere


End file.
